


The Age of Steam and Dragons

by Asego



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asego/pseuds/Asego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a fanfic based on the Inheritance Cycle (Some may know it as the Eragon series). It is set several hundred years after the end of the original series, when the various races of Alagaesia have started to figure out how to boil water to make gears turn. They have not (as of the beginning of the piece) figured out gunpowder, or any other chemical advancement- merely mechanical as of now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER WARNING  
> IF YOU HAVE NOT READ INHERITANCE (BY CHRISTOPHER PAOLINI)  
> 1: DON'T READ THIS FANFIC  
> 2: GO READ IT YOU UNCULTURED SWINE  
> 3: AFTER YOU READ IT, READ THIS FANFIC

The year is 1840 AF (After Fall, referring to the fall of Galbatorix. Time before that is referred to as BF, for Before Fall.). Eragon, Arya, and the rest of the characters from the original series are long dead, but always remembered. A new age of Dragon Riders has slowly evolved, following the pattern of Arya by declaring their allegiance to a nation or species. A side affect of this is that, while there are still many Riders, they are still considered uncommon. There is also a new council, but they aren't selected entirely based on age or wisdom. Rather, there are some positions filled based on ability to fight, or knowledge of a certain field. This council does many things, such as ensure new rebellions cannot form and set the rules of warfare. One such rule is that riders cannot use magic in combat with those who can't, of whom there are fewer and fewer due to Eragon's amendment to the pact of the Riders.

Technology has advanced significantly since the fall, to match the beginning of the Victorian Era. Elves are typically focused on matters of philosohy, leaving the other races to make progress towards a better tomorrow. Dwarves are particularly good at mechanical engineering, often being the ones to discover how to make gears turn just he right way. The best engineer of the age is not known except by a code name, "The Maker," for the dwarves now have many enemies. There is, however, another brilliant mind of the age: Barnivellus, a human. Barnivellus is a chemist, working at great lengths to figure out not what makes the clock tick, but what makes it resistant to fire. He is new to the world stage, and as such, has not had as much of an impact as the dwarves. However, he firmly believes that the future lies in the secrets of the unseen.

In recent years, the Urgals and Dwarves have formed a pact, and in response, so did Humans and Elves. Fighting is fierce along all borders, but there are also some areas safe from fighting by the rules of war. Such areas include the haven where dragons and riders are first raised and trained and certain historical sites. Elsewhere, the races are free to show off their weaponry as they see fit.

Humans have a wide variety of fighting styles, and weaponry to match. Most swordsmen prefer a single two handed sword, and possibly a dagger as a backup. However, some fighters prefer to get in close with weapons such as hatchets, short swords, and hammers like those of a blacksmith. Archers use longbows made of yew for the most part, and the traditions of both using it and fletching are passed on through generations.

Elves, being the most similar to humans, would naturally have the most similar fighting style. Typically, they prefer forms which allow for more finesse, versatility, and symmetry. Such styles include fighting with a pair of single handed swords, or daggers if the fighter is prefers fast, furious moves, switching from target to target faster than the last one can hit the ground. Archers prefer a variety of bows, as they have had generations to perfect growing compound bows from multiple trees to get the right characteristics.

Urgals haven't really changed much. They typically use large, heavy weapons made for bashing or chopping, such as particularly heavy swords, two handed hammers, or even axes. At the same time, they view bows as weapons of cowardice, used to avoid the risks of fighting on the front lines.

Dwarves prefer to avoid front line fighting due to the distinct disadvantage given to them by their lack of height. Their weapons are usually short bows carved from some sort of bone (they typically use animals nowadays to avoid offending the Urgals) or short swords for personal defense. However, a great many of them are skilled at operating siege equipment made by the Maker.

With time, the pact between the races has evolved somewhat of its own accord. The biggest change (after the addition of the Urgals and Dwarves) is that becoming a dragon rider is likely to change you into a different species which more accurately reflects your personality, which is based on the dominance of several key traits: thinker, tinkerer, fighter, or philosopher. However, riders are no longer limited to merely a single species - nearly all undergo some transformation, even if it's fairly small.

And finally, if predictably, we have reached the equally predictable topic of this literary piece. A rider in this era, and his dragon. Specifically, Meyonre and Embron. A 17 year old human, with a hint of elvishness, and a 5 year old dragon whose orange scales are yellower on his belly and redder around the head. Not born of anyone noteworthy, Meyonre was elated when he woke up in a hospital with ears that were somewhat pointy. When he found out it was caused by a dragon choosing him, he simply couldn't sit still for weeks. He was sent with several others to the haven, where he first met Aënra. He always thought the idea of love was silly, and maybe a little disgusting (he WAS 12 at the time), but he seemed constantly drawn towards this elvish girl despite that she was a year ahead of his training and two years older. Eventually, they became close friends, but he never had the guts to make his true feelings known. Their dragons (hers was a deep, beautiful purple that swayed darker around the belly by the name of Fílascona) seemed to enjoy each others' company as well.

However, not all was well. They were constantly being bullied by a clique of Urgals, headed by a particularly pure looking one by the name of Murthral. Although he should have graduated the year before Meyonre arrived, his thick skulledness wasn't just literal. It was through his bullying that they found another close friend, however; this one a prankster by the name of Folian. This Harry Potter-esque trio found themselves helping each other out in many situations, from avoiding Murthral to passing classes of conflicting races. (Dwarves, by definition, are better at mechanics, but they simply can't understand some of the higher level thinking of philosophers. Elves, on the other hand, are practically raised on the thoughts of their equivalent of Aristotle and Socrates, but are utterly lost when told to design a device to transfer mechanical energy from the one rotating shaft to another. It's a gear, for the record.)

Eventually, the time came that they graduated. First Murthral, since he'd had a head start. Then Aënra, then Meyonre, as their order dictated. The exception, in this case, is Folian, who'll be graduating a couple months from now. He is very much excited to meet Aünro, Aënra's twin brother, in addition to catching up with his old friends.

These are the tales of the age of fun, and of terror. Of wit, and of foolishness. Of friendships, and of rivalries. Of invention, and of destruction.

These are the tales of the age of steam and dragons.


	2. The Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to some main characters as they take a stroll.

_Tap. Tap. Taptaptap._  

Meyonre sat up in his bed and looked around the room. It still struck him as uncanny, how accurately they'd manage to recreate the rooms in Elesméra using stone. It was a much simpler design than what the leaders got; a single main room with a queen sized bed on one side, a bed for a fairly young dragon next to that, and a simple kitchen on the other side. On the side of the room with the human bed were two doors. The one nearer to the the kitchen was a bathroom, the other a walk in closet. On the other side was the front door, two windows, and a dragon door. It was simple, as was encouraged by the council, but sufficient. And frankly, that's the way Meyonre liked it. Although he'd prefer to be in the wooden one he'd bought in Elesméra instead of this rental, he had business in Iliria.

_Tap. Taptap. Tap._

Speaking of which, that was probably Aënra's wake up call. He'd have to get up now or risk being late for the scheduled meeting with the queen and her entourage. As he got up and strode over to the window, he woke up Embron.

_Hey, get up. We've got a lot of work to do today._

_No,_ the still half asleep dragon replied, _you've got a lot of work to do today._

_And I'll need your help to make it through without drawing my sword._

_Humph._

As his dragon finally got up, he decided to skip the tiring process of using a foggy mirror and simply look at himself through Embron's eyes.

6'0", straight (if messy) brown hair, eyes a shade lighter, a little stubble, broad shoulders, well built and muscular all in all. Not particularly noteworthy for a human other than the pointed ears.

 _Hey,_ Embron snapped. _I am not your personal grooming mirror._

_No, but a dragon is useful for more things than riding._

_Good Gûntera, you are impossible to deal with in the mornings._

_You've known this about me from day one._

_Yeah, and I still can't believe your first reaction when you saw a baby dragon was to throw a bread roll at the poor thing._

_Hey, I woke up in a hospital to find what I thought was a rat on my face. What would you do?_

_Pin it down to see if it was snack worthy._

“Tch.” Meyonre opened the window to let in the pebble Aënra had magically made fly to him, and the tapping immediately stopped. She prided herself on figuring out how to do that. Normally, it would cost any magician notably to use even such a small amount of magic across an entire city. But by storing her spare energy in a gem and adjusting the flow of magic slightly to change the source of energy, it was almost like a bug that wouldn't rest until it found Meyonre. Once he held it though, it immediately stopped struggling and “fell asleep,” if rocks could do that.

Moving on with his morning routine, he took a brief bath and shaved, using magic to ease both. As he was passing from the bathroom to the closet, he grabbed an apple for breakfast. Like most dragon riders, Meyonre rarely ate meat.

For his outfit, he chose soft leather riding boots, some brown cotton trousers, a sword belt decorated to fit the occasion, a simple white dress shirt, and a hunter green waistcoat, being sure to use earthen colors, as was traditional of the riders. Since this was a “fashion over function” event, he decided to trade his goggles for a top hat, pocket watch, and cravat. As always, he carried his orange sword with gold decoration, Istslri. When Eragon learned the Name of Names, one of the first things he did was free Rhunön from her binding vow to never make swords again for the riders. While she was still alive, she passed the art on to some devoted followers who shared her views that the journey was more important than the destination. To this day, the swords are made of brightsteel by Rhunön's Hand, as that's what her followers are called. They are also said to have also spawned the intellectual revolution which sweeps the elves.

While he greatly enjoyed having his sword, and it served great symbolic purposes, warfare had changed. Riders often carried more practical weapons such as lances or bows, and many wizards wielded sticks of varied length with runes carved on them to aid in structuring their magic. This allowed the user to simply say “brisingr,” and a predetermined set of runes would activate and mold the magic into a specific form. While wands and staffs, as they're called, are a great help to amateur witches and wizards who struggle with such things, they were a hindrance to those as powerful to riders. Due to the fact that all of this had to be done beforehand, it meant a magic user could only use one type of fire based magic, be it a ball, stream, or explosion. Nonetheless, many riders carried them for the sake of fashion.

After he finished dressing, he checked on Embron to ensure he was on his way back from a bath in a nearby lake. After all, a dragon rider couldn't meet the queen on a filthy dragon, and stains were hard to get out of such impractical clothes. Meyonre started to wonder if they were specifically made to ensure the wearer did nothing vaguely unsanitary.

“Greetings, my good fellow.”

The voice startled him not once, but twice. First because he still had no idea how Aënra could walk around so silently. Second because he was shocked at how good she looked. She was just a couple inches shorter than Meyonre, and had long, dark brown hair which was currently braided in a circle on her head, and light blue eyes that almost seemed to glow. She was wearing a floor length paneled skirt and blouse, both the color of cream with dark violet highlights. Additionally, she had a matching parasol, hat, gloves, and boots, although hers had heels and were likely made of a stiffer leather, and used purple for their main color.

“Oh, uh, hey, Aënra. What're you doing here?”

“Making sure you're awake and ready for the meeting this time,” she said in that light, airy tone that was typical of elves.

“Hey, that was one time.”

“One time and the reason we can't go back to Feinster any time soon.”

“Will you ever drop it? I learned my lesson.”

“Probably not, but thanks for asking.”

“Anyways, judging by the skirt, we'll be walking to the throne room?”

“Of course. I suspect Fílascona and Embron will enjoy having the morning off. Shall we depart, then?”

Interlocking his arm with hers, Meyonre mimicked the upper class, almost snobbish dialect she'd adopted. “Immediately my lady. It wouldn't suit us to keep the queen waiting, and it is most certainly a long walk. I'd offer to stop for a light brunch on the way, but it seems we've both already eaten, and I'd rather not spoil my appetite for supper.”

Laughing as they walked out to the street, their thoughts soon drifted to more serious business. After a brief chat with Embron regarding the change in plans, Meyonre asked “Do you know what thee meeting's about?”

“I'm not entirely sure, but word on the street is the general's in town with former nobodies from the military. If nothing else, we'll likely be introduced to them.”

“You think it's a morale booster? We're there to shake hands, meet people, and promote the war effort?”

“I doubt it. We'd be told such far ahead of time if that's all it is. Not to mention the time we spend here is time we could spend fighting or acting as diplomats.”

As they rounded the corner, they were suddenly bombarded with the smells of freshly cooked breads, pies, meats, and other delicious foods. About a block down was the commercial district, with its many foods, crafts, and services. Henna tattoos were fairly popular among elves, and were making their way into human culture as well. Even from here, Meyonre could distinguish three different stalls offering them in assorted colors.

While some parts of the financial district hadn't changed for centuries, there were some shops that had a more modern feel and sported technological gizmos and whatsits - most often in metallic colors such as gold and copper. Such devices ranged from simple toys made of gears to modernized tools which were more precise or easier to use than their older counterparts.

In recent years, such stores had been doing poorly in elvish and human lands due to the fact that most of these trinkets and tools were made by the dwarves. Some had managed to find other manufacturers, while others had simply closed their doors to await the end of the war so they could assure customers high quality goods.  
  
"While we're in town," Aënra suggested, "you may want to think of anything you need for your travels. Perhaps a new saddle bag, or more arrows."  
  
"I should be all set, but that brings an interesting question to mind. Where is your sword?"  
  
"Believe it or not, I'm actually hiding it on me. Do you remember the phrase we learned that could condense anything to a size so small it's invisible?"  
  
"Vaguely. Is that really what you're using? What would happen if we run into trouble and you need to chant a spell in order to get your sword?"  
  
"Actually, I'm using a version I thought up myself. Rather than shrinking the entire object, it merely shrinks the space around it in relation to a specific object. This allows me to store Mor'ranrvarden in a dagger sheath strapped to my ankle by shrinking the sword as I put it in the sheath."  
  
"That's fascinating, but fairly draining. I assume it's safe to say you're using a gem to store excess energy. Are you by any chance using the trick Folian showed us that turned motion into magical energy?"  
  
"No, but that would be a good idea. Remind me about that when we're done here."

As they rounded one last corner while enjoying the silence, they came up to the private gardens in front of the palace. A guard approached, greeting them as he got close. “Good morning. Riders Meyonre and Aënra, I presume?”

“That's correct," Meyonre confirmed. "Is the queen ready to see us now?”

 “Not quite, but it's always better to be a little early than a little late. Follow me, if you would.” 

With that, they entered the palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon accents (and accents my work(s) will use) are American for humans, British for elves, Scottish/Irish for Dwarves.  
> Mor'ranrvarden, the name of Aënra's sword, is "guardian of peace" in the ancient language. Istslri, Meyonre's sword, is "flame." (I'm so original.)


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The main character meets the queen, plus the best of the best from the army.

"There's a couple of things you should know before you actually meet the queen by the way," said the guard as they walked down a typical castle hall. "Even in times of peace, she didn't like all of the etiquette associated with the position of power. Now that we have such a fierce war raging, she's cut it down to just enough to ensure the chain of command is known to outsiders. She will address you on a first name basis for the most part, and you should address her as either 'ma'am,' 'm'lady,' or 'lady Goodwin.' Bows and curtsies are out of the question. Since you'll likely be the only riders present, everyone else will be outside of your chain of command and you are free to address them as you wish, but she doesn't like frivolous titles. Beyond that, try not to offend her."

"Thank you," said Aënra. "And what might your name be?"

"Marvin, Head of Security at your service."

With that, they went through a door on the left of the hallway and into what appeared to be a strategy room. In it were a couple shelves of books, a couple bowls of water for communication, and a central table with a map of Alagaësia on it. Around the table were the queen, the general, and a handful of advisers having some discussion which was apparently less important than the presence of the riders, as it ended abruptly.

“Ah. It seems my next appointment is a hair early,” observed the queen, “but that's the way I like it. Alvon, I'll need you to stay here. Marvin, please go escort our special guests from the secondary conference room. Everyone else, you are dismissed. And Shren!”

One of the advisers, short and by no means starving, abruptly stopped and turned around. “Yes, m'lady?”

“I expect a report on alternate routes in the hour. You are the minister of the infrastructure, you're supposed to know these roads by heart.”

“Of course my lady, but the surveyors I've sent out haven't managed-”

“Shren!”

“Sorry ma'am. I'll get right on it.”

As he left, Meyonre observed the other two in the room. Sarah Goodwin, queen of the Republic of West Alagaësia, stood at 5”4'. Despite the underwhelming height, her fierce red hair and intense green eyes made sure she was noticed. The way she carried herself ensured everyone around knew who was in charge. Presently, she wore a fashionable blouse and vest with a calf length skirt, plus simple shoes and trousers, all in the increasingly popular colors of brown and gold other than the beige blouse. She was probably in her mid 20s, but the toll of managing a kingdom at war had aged her several years.

The other occupant of the room was General Alvon, wearing a blue dress uniform to indicate his original military branch was the navy despite having rose to a rank in control of both land and sea forces, was a fit man of about the same height as Meyonre, but perhaps an inch or two taller. His dark skin indicated he was likely from the tribes which wandered the Hadarac Desert. Having managed to rise through the ranks of the military while surrounded by the most foreign element and prejudice against his tribes was a true testament to his skill at sea and the strategy table. Probably in his 40s, the general was likely more fit than many city dwellers who were half as fortunate as him.

Getting right down to business, the queen addressed the riders. “You two are both fluent in the ancient language, correct?”

“Yes, m'lady,” stated Meyonre.

“Good,” said Sarah, switching over immediately, “I prefer to talk in a manner which doesn't allow speakers to lie. We'll have to switch back when my other guests join us, so let's use this time wisely. Meyonre, you've pledged your loyalty to me at some point, so you shouldn't have problems taking orders from me. Aënra, you have, of course, pledged your loyalty to Alanna Dröting. She has put you in my command for the duration of this mission. The specifics are here,” she continued as she pulled a sealed letter from a pocket that Meyonre hadn't seen and handed it to Aënra. “Any objections?”

After opening and skimming over the contents of the letter, Aënra stated “None here.”

 _Everything's in order?_ Meyonre asked Aënra.

_It seems to be. I'll have to scry with Alanna Dröting when I get the chance though, just to make sure._

“By advisement of the Dragon council,” the queen continued, “your dragons should be able to carry a total of 7 warriors and equipment for extended duration without incident, including the riders. Is that true?”

Conversing privately with Aënra again, Meyonre thought the question over. _Embron can carry 3, but I'm not sure about equipment. For starters, we'd have to use the lightweight versions made by the elves, and even then we'd have to share what we could, most notably shelter. What about. Fílascona?_

_If the equipment is elvish, then she can carry four plus a little extra equipment. I agree that we'll likely be cramped at night. It's definitely an odd question though._

_Agreed._ Addressing the queen now, he concluded “It'll be a bit tricky. For starters, we'll need to have elvish equipment, human equipment simply weighs too much. Second, whoever is coming with us is going to have to be willing to share a lot of things, most notably tents.”

“The equipment can be arranged; we have stores of it here in case the need ever arose. Sharing things shouldn't be a problem in the slightest either.”

At that moment, Marvin returned with the “special guests” the queen had mentioned, several people who had clearly seen more than their fair share of fights. Standing out among them was a fit young woman, simple in appearance, but taller than Meyonre by several inches. She had brown hair that had been cut to a practical fighting length of a few inches, typical brown eyes, and more freckles than could be counted. She wore a simple tunic and trousers; not exactly the clothes of nobility.

The queen, switching back to the language of the humans, addressed the entrants. “Thank you, Marvin. You may carry on with your duties elsewhere now. Everyone else, if you'll follow me to the table, General Alvon and I will explain why we've gathered you all here.” Once they all had a view of the map, she continued. “As you all know, better than most probably, the war isn't quite going as well as we let the public believe. History has shown time and time again that occupying Urgal lands is futile, and as such we have policy of containment around their assorted city states. Alone, they aren't a problem. However, the dwarves have been producing more advanced machines by the day. If it was just dwarves and their equipment, it wouldn't be hard to break through their lines and disable or capture the weapons. The trouble is that the dwarves have somehow convinced the Urgals to follow their commands. They've applied tactics to the most brutal fighting force in Alagaësia. The Urgals are in charge of protecting the dwarves operating the weaponry. As such, it's become almost impossible to neutralize the machines on the battlefield. The worst of it is around here,” she carried on as she indicated a stretch of land immediately northeast of the Boers from Aberon to around Buragh. “Alvon, you've prepared a brief presentation based on the latest intelligence?”

“Yes ma'am,” he said, taking control of the meeting for a time. “This is where the dwarves have the most tunnels that we don't know of, plus the entrance to Beartooth Valley, which we can't enter for fear of being ambushed. Of course, it's also the nearest to their manufacturing facilities, so it's this area that sees the latest, most effective weaponry from The Maker. The latest we've seen, they've developed ballistae that can fire and reload in seconds, and all the user has to do is turn a crank and aim. It takes a team of several Urgals to operate, but it more than makes up for the sheer fighting force you'd be pulling from the battle. All in all, it's a nasty piece of work. Our goal is to train the elite of our army with a small number of Riders to swoop in, take out the machines while, and get out of there before they figure out what's happening, primarily off the battlefield. Any questions?”

The woman among the soldiers spoke up. “Just one, sir. You're telling me we're the elite of the army? What tests did we go through to get that title?”

“Lyra, you're a particularly unique case. Most of the soldiers you've been getting to know have some story of holding off a dozen dwarves so their comrades could escape or clearing buildings singlehandedly. You, on the other hand, are the most impressive by far. You spent months in the middle of the fiercest fighting before finally winding up in a field hospital. You lasted a good 4 months longer than most. Of course, between you undermining your commander to sway battles in our favor numerous times and the fact that you're a woman, your commanding officer had a court martial well in progress by the time your story got my attention. I managed to get him to drop the charges on the condition that you were removed from his unit and discreetly dealt with by me. Having shown such courage, not to mention willingness and ability to lead, it was only natural to me that you'd lead the side of the program that doesn't ride dragons.”

“Wait, I'm leading this arrangement?”

“Yes. Under normal circumstances, your new rank would keep you far from any action. But of course, these are far from normal circumstances. If you really don't want a part of this, I can transfer you to your old unit.”

“No, no thank you. I- I'm honored, sir, just surprised. Are you sure-”

“Entirely. In fact, due to the nature of this team, you will share veto power over my commands in the field with the Riders. If two of you see fit for whatever reason to disobey any orders I give and cannot contact me or the queen, you will face no consequences for any actions you take contrary to my orders.”

“Alright, my turn,” interjected Meyonre. “First of all, why choose Aënra and I? Second, what exactly is the chain of command?”

Apparently, it was Queen Sarah's turn to take questions. “Meyonre, Aënra, and Lyra, you three now have the official rank of Colonel. You answer only to Alvon and I. However, as mentioned earlier, you three have the ability to override our decisions if the situation calls for it and we are both unreachable, which includes combat decisions. As such, you three are considered equals. If you deem it necessary, however, you may make private arrangements that one of you is in command for a certain period of time; perhaps take turns leading each mission. As for why you two were chosen, that was as much a political decision as it was strategic. We needed a small number of riders who were very close to each other, but we also needed a group who wasn't well known. Being a pair fresh out of training, there's no chance for awkward love triangles to get in the way, and you haven't made much of a name for yourselves yet. Anything else?”

A different soldier – tall and lanky, clearly the build of an archer – was apparently thorough in finding out how this was going to work. “Yes, you highness. Who's in charge of supplies and equipment, and what are the ranks of the rest of us?”

“The Colonels will be responsible for buying essentials, most notably food and equipment for maintenance, using the money of the Republic. In the future, I will give them more financial freedom, but anything else is off limits for now. If you can finish your first mission successfully, larger or less necessary purchases will be allowed with my approval. As for internal organization, that's up to Lyra. She's your direct commander, and we're trying to let you have as much freedom as possible to remain independent and be self sufficient.”

“Speaking of our first mission,” questioned Aënra, “when are we headed out, your majesty?”

After receiving a meaningful glance from the queen, Alvon thought for a moment and replied “I'm not sure exactly when, but the sooner the better. My forces can barely hold off the machines as it is, but if The Maker thinks up a new device, the lines will collapse. Although I cannot say whether casualties desertion due to fear will take the bigger toll. As such, I'd prefer if you left tomorrow morning, before dawn to avoid being seen. Since none of you actually live in Iliria, I think it's safe to assume you're all ready to travel as it is. Anything else?”

After a brief pause, the queen dismissed them with “Then you'd best start preparing. If possible, spend the day together; your life will depend on the rest of these people, so it'd be beneficial if you got to know them better. Oh, and anything said in this room is confidential, so don't start trying to pick up girls in taverns with it.”

With that, they all shuffled out and started towards the front entrance. Hoping to break the ice, Meyonre made a proposal. “Hey, why don't I take you guys out to a decent tavern or something? It'll be my treat.”

Another soldier, this one almost dwarvish in appearance, spoke up this time. “Well as long as you're paying, I don't see why not. Fancy eatin's a bit above my wage.”

“Well,” Aënra mused, “I'm pretty sure you all just made the rank of Captain or higher, so your wages just tripled, give or take. Let's go raise a drink to that.”

“I second that,” chuckled the soldier.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm fairly new at this, and it's been a while since I've read the books. As such, corrections and tips are both welcome. Thanks in advance!  
> Character cheat sheet: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1VBFlFve4xAy4nf49HEEnb6N45lXnPrvfBhSD4ihHwDc/edit?usp=sharing  
> Map I'm using with permission of Kaytoko: http://vanja1995.deviantart.com/art/Pomnuria-Hjarta-er-Medh-Ono-Alagaesia-283880920  
> (Speaking of whom, Kaytoko has numerous fanfics on many series, including Free! Inheritance, and Avatar: Legend of Korra. So if you get impatient with me, she has accounts on AO3, Tumblr, and fanfiction.net under the same name. Go check out her stories!)  
> Official tumblr: http://ageofsteamanddragons.tumblr.com/. Follow it for updates on progress and notifications that I've put up the next chapter.
> 
> Updates will occur as my schedule deems possible and my mood deems time worthy. (As in you'll get your damn updates on weekends and breaks from school, so quit clammerin!)


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